My friendship with Wei Lien-shu, now that I come to think
of it, was certainly a strange one. It began and ended with a funeral.

When I lived in S——, I often heard him mentioned as an odd
fellow: after studying zoology, he had become a history teacher in a
middle school. He treated others in cavalier fashion, yet liked to
concern himself with their affairs; and while maintaining that the
family system should be abolished, he sent his salary to his
grandmother the same day that he drew it. He had many other strange
ways, enough to set tongues wagging in the town. One autumn I stayed
at Hanshihshan with some relatives also named Wei, who were distantly
related to him. However, they understood him even less, looking on him
as if he were a foreigner. "He's not like us!" they said.

This was not strange, for although China had had modern schools for
some twenty years, there was not even a primary school in Hanshihshan.
He was the only one who had left that mountain village to study; hence
in the villagers' eyes he was an undoubted freak. They also envied
him, though, saying he had made much money.

Towards the end of autumn, there was an epidemic of dysentery in
the village, and in alarm I thought of returning to the town. I heard
his grandmother had contracted the disease too, and because of her age
her case was serious. Moreover there was not a single doctor in the
village. Wei had no other relative but this grandmother, who with one
maidservant led a simple life. As he had lost both parents in his
childhood, she had brought him up. She was said to have known much
hardship earlier, but was now leading a comfortable life. Since he had
neither wife nor children, however, his family was very quiet, and
this presumably was one of the things about him considered freakish.

The village was more than thirty miles from the town by land, and
more than twenty miles by water; so that it would take four days to
fetch Wei back. In this out-of-the-way village such matters were
considered momentous news, eagerly canvassed by all. The next day the
old woman was reported to be in a critical state, and the messenger on
his way. However, before dawn she died, her last words being:

"Why won't you let me see my grandson?"

Elders of the clan, close relatives, members of his grandmother's
family and others, crowded the room anticipating Wei's return, which
would be in time for the funeral. The coffin and shroud had long been
ready, but the immediate problem was how to cope with this grandson,
for they expected he would insist on changing the funeral rites. After
a conference, they decided on three terms which he must accept. First,
he must wear deep mourning; secondly, he must kowtow to the coffin;
and, thirdly, he must let Buddhist monks and Taoist priests say mass.
In short, all must be done in the traditional manner.

This decision once reached, they decided to gather there in full
force when Wei arrived home, to assist each other in this negotiation
which could admit of no compromise. Licking their lips, the villagers
eagerly awaited developments. Wei, as a "modern," "a follower of
foreign creeds," had always proved unreasonable. A struggle would
certainly ensue, which might even result in some novel spectacle.

He arrived home, I heard, in the afternoon, and only bowed to his
grandmother's shrine as he entered. The elders proceeded at once
according to plan. They summoned him to the ball, and after a lengthy
preamble led up to the subject. Then, speaking in unison and at
length, they gave him no chance to argue. At last, however, they dried
up, and a deep silence fell in the hall. All eyes fastened fearfully
on his lips. But without changing countenance, he answered simply:

"All right."

This was totally unexpected. A weight had been lifted from their
minds, yet their hearts felt heavier than ever, for this was so
"freakish" as to give rise to anxiety. The villagers looking for news
were also disappointed, and said to each other, "Strange. He said,
'All right.' Let's go and watch." Wei's "all right" meant that all
would be in accordance with tradition, in which case it was not worth
watching; still, they wanted to look on, and after dusk the hall
filled with light-hearted spectators.

I was one of those who went, having first sent along my gift of
incense and candles. As I arrived he was already putting the shroud
on the dead. He was a thin man with an angular face, hidden to a
certain extent by his dishevelled hair, dark eyebrows and moustache.
His eyes gleamed darkly. He laid out the body very well, as deftly as
an expert, so that the spectators were impressed. According to the
local custom, at a married woman's funeral members of the dead woman's
family found fault even when everything was well done; however, he
remained silent, complying with their wishes with a face devoid of all
expression. An old, grey-haired woman standing before me gave a sigh
of envy and respect.

People kowtowed; then they wailed, all the women chanting as they
wailed. When the body was put in the coffin, all kowtowed again, then
wailed again, until the lid of the coffin was nailed down. Silence
reigned for a moment, and then there was a stir of surprise and
dissatisfaction. I too suddenly realized that from beginning to end
Wei had not shed a single tear. He was simply sitting on the mourner's
mat, his two eyes gleaming darkly.

In this atmosphere of surprise and dissatisfaction, the ceremony
ended. The disgruntled mourners seemed about to leave, but Wei was
still sitting on the mat, lost in thought. Suddenly, tears fell from
his eyes, then he burst into a long wail like a wounded wolf howling
in the wilderness in the dead of night, anger and sorrow mingled with
his agony. This was not in accordance with tradition and, taken by
surprise, we were at a loss. After a little hesitation, some went to
try to persuade him to stop, and these were joined by more and more
people until finally there was a crowd round him. But he sat there
wailing, motionless as an iron statue.

Feeling awkward, the crowd dispersed. Wei continued to cry for
about half an hour, then suddenly stopped, and without a word to the
mourners went straight inside. Later it was reported by spies that he
had gone into his grandmother's room, lain down on the bed and, to all
appearances, fallen sound asleep.

Two days later, on the eve of my return to town, I heard the
villagers discussing eagerly, as if they were possessed, how Wei
intended to burn most of his dead grandmother's furniture and
possessions, giving the rest to the maidservant who had served her
during her life and attended her on her deathbed. Even the house was
to be lent to the maid for an indefinite period. Wei's relatives
argued themselves hoarse, but could not shake his resolution.

On my way back, largely out of curiosity perhaps, I passed his
house and went in to express condolence. He received me wearing a
hemless white mourning dress, and his expression was as cold as ever.
I urged him not to take it so to heart, but apart from grunting
noncommittally all he said was:

Early that winter we met for the third time. It was in a bookshop
in S——, where we nodded simultaneously, showing at least that we
were acquainted. But it was at the end of that year, after I lost my
job, that we became friends. Thenceforward I paid Wei many visits. In
the first place, of course, I had nothing to do; in the second place,
despite his habitual reserve, he was said to sympathize with lame
dogs. However, fortune being fickle, lame dogs do not remain lame for
ever, hence he had few steady friends. Report proved true, for as soon
as I sent in my card, he received me. His sitting-room consisted of
two rooms thrown into one, quite bare of ornament, with nothing in it
apart from table and chairs, but some bookcases. Although he was
reputed to be terribly "modern," there were few modern books on the
shelves. He knew that I had lost my job; but after the usual polite
remarks had been exchanged, host and guest sat silent, with nothing to
say to each other. I noticed he very quickly finished his cigarette,
only dropping it to the ground when it nearly burned his fingers.

"Have a cigarette," he said suddenly, reaching for another.

I took one and, between puffs, spoke of teaching and books, still
finding very little to say. I was just thinking of leaving when I
heard shouts and footsteps outside the door, and four children rushed
in. The eldest was about eight or nine, the smallest four or five.
Their hands, faces and clothes were very dirty, and they were
thoroughly unprepossessing; yet Wei's face lit up with pleasure, and
getting up at once he walked to the other room, saying:

"Come, Ta-liang, Erh-liang, all of you! I have bought the
mouth-organs you wanted yesterday."

The children rushed in after him, to return immediately with a
mouth-organ apiece; but once outside they started fighting, and one
of them cried.

"There's one each; they're exactly the same. Don't squabble!" he
said as he followed them.

"Whose children are they?" I asked.

"The landlord's. They have no mother, only a grandmother."

"Your landlord is a widower?"

"Yes. His wife died three or four years ago, and he has not
remarried. Otherwise, he would not rent his spare rooms to a bachelor
like me." He said this with a cold smile.

I wanted very much to ask why he had remained single so long, but I
did not know him well enough.

Once you knew him well, he was a good talker. He was full of ideas,
many of them quite remarkable. What exasperated me were some of his
guests. As a result, probably, of reading Yu Ta-fu's romantic stories,
they constantly referred to themselves as "the young unfortunate" or
"the outcast"; and, sprawling on the big chairs like lazy and arrogant
crabs, they would sigh, smoke and frown all at the same time.

Then there were the landlord's children, who always fought among
themselves, knocked over bowls and plates, begged for cakes and kept
up an ear-splitting din. Yet the sight of them invariably dispelled
Wei's customary coldness, and they seemed to be the most precious
thing in his life. Once the third child was said to have measles. He
was so worried that his dark face took on an even darker hue. The
attack proved a light one, however, and thereafter the children's
grandmother made a joke of his anxiety.

Apparently sensing my impatience, he seized an opening one day to
say, "Children are always good. They are all so innocent. . . . ."

"Not always," I answered casually.

"Always. Children have none of the faults of grown-ups. If they
turn out badly later, as you contend, it is because they have been
moulded by their environment. Originally they are nor bad, but
innocent. . . . I think China's only hope lies in this."

"I don't agree. Without the root of evil, how could they bear evil
fruit in later life? Take a seed, for example. It is because it
contains the embryo leaves, flowers and fruits, that later it grows
into these things. There must be a cause. . . ." Since my
unemployment, just like those great officials who resigned from
office and took up Buddhism, I had been reading the Buddhist sutras.
I did not understand Buddhist philosophy though, and was just talking
at random.

However, Wei was annoyed. He gave me a look, then said no more. I
could nor tell whether he had no more to say, or whether he felt it
not worth arguing with me. But he looked cold again, as he had nor
done for a long time, and smoked two cigarettes one after the other in
silence. By the time he reached for the third cigarette, I beat a
retreat.

Our estrangement lasted three months. Then, owing in part to
forgetfulness, in part to the fact that he fell out with those
"innocent" children, he came to consider my slighting remarks on
children as excusable. Or so I surmised. This happened in my house
after drinking one day, when, with a rather melancholy look, he cocked
his head and said:

"Come to think of it, it's really curious. On my way here I met a
small child with a reed in his hand, which he pointed at me, shouting,
'Kill!' He was just a toddler. . . ."

"He must have been moulded by his environment."

As soon as I had said this, I wanted to take it back. However, he
did not seem to care, just went on drinking heavily, smoking furiously
in between.

"I meant to ask you," I said, trying to change the subject. "You
don't usually call on people, what made you come out today? I've known
you for more than a year, yet this is the first time you've been here."

"I was just going to tell you: don't call on me for the time being.
There are a father and son in my place who are perfect pests. They are
scarcely human!"

"Father and son? Who are they?" I was surprised.

"My cousin and his son. Well, the son resembles the father."

"I suppose they came to town to see you and have a good time?"

"No. They came to talk me into adopting the boy."

"What, to adopt the boy?" I exclaimed in amazement. "But you are
not married."

"They know I won't marry. But that's nothing to them. Actually they
want to inherit that tumbledown house of mine in the village. I have
no other property, you know; as soon as I get money I spend it. I've
only that house. Their purpose in life is to drive out the old
maidservant who is living in the place for the time being."

The cynicism of his remark took me aback. However I tried to soothe
him, by saying:

"I don't think your relatives can be so bad. They are only rather
old-fashioned. For instance, that year when you cried bitterly, they
came forward eagerly to plead with you

"When I was a child and my father died, I cried bitterly because
they wanted to take the house from me and make me put my mark on the
document. They came forward eagerly then to plead with me. . . ." He
looked up, as if searching the air for that bygone scene.

"The crux of the matter is—you have no children. Why don't you get
married?" I had found a way to change the subject, and this was
something I had been wanting to ask for a long time. It seemed an
excellent opportunity.

He looked at me in surprise, then dropped his gaze to his knees,
and started smoking. I received no answer to my question.

Yet he was not allowed to enjoy even this inane existence in peace.
Gradually anonymous attacks appeared in the less reputable papers, and
rumours concerning him were spread in the schools. This was not the
simple gossip of the old days, but deliberately damaging. I knew this
was the outcome of articles he had taken to writing for magazines, so
I paid no attention. The citizens of S—— disliked nothing more than
fearless argument, and anyone guilty of it indubitably became the
object of secret attacks. This was the rule, and Wei knew it too.
However, in spring, when I heard he had been asked by the school
authorities to resign, I confessed it surprised me. Of course, this
was only to be expected, and it surprised me simply because I had
hoped my friend would escape. The citizens of S—— were not proving
more vicious than usual.

I was occupied then with my own problems, negotiating to go to a
school in Shanyang that autumn, so I had no time to call on him. Some
three months passed before I was at leisure, and even then it had not
occurred to me to visit him. One day, passing the main street, I
happened to pause before a secondhand bookstall, where I was startled
to see an early edition of the Commentaries on Ssuma Chien's
"Historical Records" from Wei's collection on display. He was no
connoisseur, but he loved books, and I knew he prized this particular
one. He must be very hard pressed to have sold it. It seemed scarcely
possible he could have become so poor only two or three months after
losing his job; yet he spent money as soon as he had it, and had never
saved. I decided to call on him. On the same street I bought a bottle
of liquor, two packages of peanuts and two smoked fish-heads.

His door was closed. I called out twice, but there was no reply.
Thinking he was asleep, I called louder, at the same time hammering
on the door.

"He's probably out." The children's grandmother, a fat woman with
small eyes, thrust her grey head our from the opposite window, and
spoke impatiently.

"Where has he gone?" I asked.

"Where? Who knows—where could he go? You can wait, he will be back
soon."

I pushed open the door and went into his sitting-room. It was
greatly changed, looking desolate in its emptiness. There was little
furniture left, while all that remained of his library were those
foreign books which could not be sold. The middle of the room was
still occupied by the table around which those woeful and gallant
young men, unrecognized geniuses, and dirty, noisy children had
formerly gathered. Now it all seemed very quiet, and there was a thin
layer of dust on the table. I put the bottle and packages down, pulled
over a chair, and sat down by the table facing the door.

Very soon, sure enough, the door opened, and someone stepped in as
silently as a shadow. It was Wei. It might have been the twilight that
made his face look dark; but his expression was unchanged.

"Ah, it's you? How long have you been here?" He seemed pleased.

"Not very long," I said. "Where have you been?"

"Nowhere in particular. Just taking a stroll."

He pulled up a chair too and sat by the table. We started drinking,
and spoke of his losing his job. However, he did not care to talk much
about it, considering it only to be expected. He had come across many
similar cases. It was not strange at all, and nor worth discussing. As
usual, he drank heavily, and discoursed on society and the study of
history. Something made me glance at the empty bookshelves, and,
remembering the Commentaries on Ssuma Chien's "Historical Records"
, I was conscious of a slight loneliness and sadness.

"Your sitting-room has a deserted look

Have you had fewer visitors recently?"

"None at all. They don't find it much fun when I'm not in a good
mood. A bad mood certainly makes people uncomfortable Just as no one
goes to the park in winter. . . ."

He took two sips of liquor in succession, then fell silent.
Suddenly, looking up, he asked, "I suppose you have had no luck
either in finding work?"

Although I knew he was only venting his feelings as a result of
drinking, I felt indignant at the way people treated him. Just as I
was about to say something, he pricked up his ears, then, scooping up
some peanuts, went our. Outside, I could hear the laughter and shouts
of the children.

But as soon as he went out, the children became quiet. It sounded
as if they had left. He went after them, and said something, but I
could hear no reply. Then, as silent as a shadow, he came back and put
the handful of peanuts back in the package.

"They don't even want to eat anything I give them," he said
sarcastically, in a low voice.

"Old Wei," I said, forcing a smile, although I was sick at heart,
"I think you are tormenting yourself unnecessarily. Why think so
poorly of your fellow men?"

He only smiled cynically.

"I haven't finished yet. I suppose you consider people like me, who
come here occasionally, do so in order to kill time or amuse
themselves at your expense?"

"No, I don't. Well, sometimes I do. Perhaps they come to find
something to talk about."

"Then you are wrong. People are not like that. You are really
wrapping yourself up in a cocoon. You should take a more cheerful
view." I sighed.

"Maybe. But tell me, where does the thread for the cocoon come
from? Of course, there are plenty of people like that; take my
grandmother, for example. Although I have none of her blood in my
veins, I may inherit her fate. But that doesn't matter, I have
already bewailed my fate together with hers. . . ."

Then I remembered what had happened at his grandmother's funeral. I
could almost see it before my eyes.

"I still don't understand why you cried so bitterly," I said
bluntly.

"You mean at my grandmother's funeral? No, you wouldn't." He lit
the lamp. "I suppose it was because of that that we became friends,"
he said quietly. "You know, this grandmother was my grandfather's
second wife. My father's own mother died when he was three." Growing
thoughtful, he drank silently, and finished a smoked fish-head.

"I didn't know it to begin with. Only, from my childhood I was
puzzled. Ar that time my father was still alive, and our family was
well off. During the lunar New Year we would hang up the ancestral
images and hold a grand sacrifice. It was one of my rare pleasures to
look at those splendidly dressed images. At that time a maidservant
would always carry me to an image, and point at it, saying: 'This is
your own grandmother. Bow to her so that she will protect you and make
you grow up strong and healthy.' I could not understand how I came to
have another grandmother, in addition to the one beside me. But I
liked this grandmother who was 'my own.' She was not as old as the
granny at home. Young and beautiful, wearing a red costume with golden
embroidery and a headdress decked with pearls, she resembled my
mother. When I looked at her, her eyes seemed to gaze down on me, and
a faint smile appeared on her lips. I knew she was very fond of me too.

"But I liked the granny at home too, who sat all day under the
window slowly plying her needle. However, no matter how merrily I
laughed and played in front of her, or called to her, I could not
make her laugh; and that made me feel she was cold, unlike other
children's grandmothers. Still, I liked her. Later on, though, I
gradually cooled towards her, nor because I grew older and learned
she was not my own grandmother, but rather because I was exasperated
by the way she kept on sewing mechanically, day in, day our. She was
unchanged, however. She sewed, looked after me, loved and protected me
as before; and though she seldom smiled, she never scolded me. It was
the same after my father died. Later on, we lived almost entirely on
her sewing, so it was still the same, until I went to school. . . ."

The light flickered as the paraffin gave out, and he stood up to
refill the lamp from a small tin kettle under the bookcase.

"The price of paraffin has gone up twice this month," he said
slowly, after turning up the wick. "Life becomes harder every day. She
remained the same until I graduated from school and had a job, when
our life became more secure. She didn't change, I suppose, until she
was sick, couldn't carry on, and had to take to her bed. . . .

"Since her later days, I think, were not too unhappy on the whole,
and she lived to a great age, I need not have mourned. Besides,
weren't there a lot of others there eager to wail? Even those who had
tried their hardest to rob her, wailed, or appeared bowed down with
grief." He laughed. "However, at that moment her whole life rose to my
mind—the life of one who created loneliness for herself and tasted
its bitterness. I felt there were many people like that. I wanted to
weep for them; but perhaps it was largely because I was too
sentimental. . . .

"Your present advice to me is what I felt with regard to her. But
actually my ideas at that time were wrong. As for myself, since I grew
up my feelings for her cooled. . . ."

He paused, with a cigarette between his fingers; and bending his
head lost himself in thought. The lamplight flickered.

"Well, it is hard to live so that no one will mourn for your
death," he said, as if to himself. After a pause he looked up at me,
and said, "I suppose you can't help? I shall have to find something to
do very soon."

"Have you no other friends you could ask?" I was in no position to
help myself then, let alone others.

"I have a few, but they are all in the same boat. . . ."

When I left him, the full moon was high in the sky and the night
was very still.

The teaching profession in Shanyang was no bed of roses. I taught
for two months without receiving a cent of salary, until I had to cut
down on cigarettes. But the school staff, even those earning only
fifteen or sixteen dollars a month, were easily contented. They all
had iron constitutions steeled by hardship, and, although lean and
haggard, they worked from morning till night; while if interrupted at
work by their superiors, they stood up respectfully. Thus they all
practised plain living and high thinking. This reminded me, somehow,
of Wei's parting words. He was then even more hard up, and often
looked embarrassed, having apparently lost his former cynicism. When
he heard that I was leaving, he came late at night to see me off, and,
after hesitating for some rime, he stuttered:

"Would there be anything for me there? Even copying work, at twenty
to thirty dollars a month, would do. I . . . ."

I was surprised. I had not thought he would consider anything so
low, and did nor know how to answer.

"I . . . I have to live a little longer. . . ."

"I'll look out when I get there. I'll do my best."

This was what I had promised at the rime, and the words often rang
in my ears later, as if Wei were still before me, stuttering: "I have
to live a little longer." I tried to interest various people in his
case, but to no avail. Since there were few vacancies, and many
unemployed, these people always ended by apologizing for being unable
to help, and I would write him an apologetic letter. By the end of the
term, things had gone from bad to worse. The magazine Reason, edited
by some of the local gentry, began to attack me. Naturally no names
were mentioned, but it cleverly insinuated that I was stirring up
trouble in the school, even my recommendation of Wei being interpreted
as a manoeuvre to gather a clique about me.

So I had to keep quiet. Apart from attending class, I lay low in my
room, sometimes when cigarette smoke escaped from my window, I even
feared they might consider I was stirring up trouble. For Wei,
naturally, I could do nothing. This state of affairs prevailed till
midwinter.

It had been snowing all day, and the snow had not stopped by
evening. Outside was so still, you could almost hear the sound of
stillness. I closed my eyes and sat there in the dim lamplight doing
nothing, imagining the snow-flakes falling, creating boundless drifts
of snow. It would be nearly New Year at home too, and everybody would
be busy. I saw myself a child again, making a snow man with a group of
children on the level ground in the back yard. The eyes of the snow
man, made of jet-black fragments of coal, suddenly turned into Wei's
eyes.

"I have to live a little longer." The same voice again.

"What for?" I asked inadvertently, aware immediately of the
ineptitude of my remark.

This reply woke me up. I sat up, lit a cigarette and opened the
window, only to find the snow' falling even faster. I heard a knock
at the door, and a moment later it opened to admit the servant, whose
step I knew. He handed me a big envelope, more than six inches in
length. The address was scrawled, but I saw Wei's name on it.

This was the first letter he had written me since I left S——.
Knowing he was a bad correspondent, I had not wondered at his
silence, only sometimes I had felt he should have given me some news
of himself. The receipt of this letter was quite a surprise. I tore it
open. The letter had been hastily scrawled, and said:

". . . Shen-fei,

"How should I address you? I am leaving a blank for you to fill in
as you please. It will be all the same to me.

"I have received three letters from you altogether. I did nor reply
for one simple reason: I had no money even to buy stamps.

"Perhaps you would like to know what has happened to me. To put it
simply: I have failed. I thought I had failed before, but I was wrong
then; now, however, I am really a failure. Formerly there was someone
who wanted me to live a little longer, and I wished it too, but found
it difficult. Now, there is no need, yet I must go on living. . . .

"Shall I live on?

"The one who wanted me to live a little longer could not live
himself. He was trapped and killed by the enemy. Who killed him? No
one knows.

"Changes take place so swiftly! During the last half year I have
virtually been a beggar; it's true, I could be considered a beggar.
However, I had my purpose: I was willing to beg for the cause, to go
cold and hungry for it, to be lonely for it, to suffer hardship for
it. But I did not want to destroy myself. So you see, the fact that
one person wanted me to live on, proved extremely potent. Now there is
no one, nor one. Ar the same time I feel I do nor deserve to live,
nor, in my opinion, do some other people. Yet, I am conscious of
wanting to live on to spite those who wish me dead; for at least there
is no one left who wants me to live decently, and so no one will be
hurt. I don't want to hurt such people. But now there is no one, not
one. What a joy! Wonderful! I am now doing what I formerly detested
and opposed. I am now giving up all I formerly believed in and upheld.
I have really failed—but I have won.

"Do you think I am mad? Do you think I have become a hero or a
great man? No, it is not that. It is very simple; I have become
adviser to General Tu, hence I have eighty dollars salary a month.

". . . Shen-fei,

"What will you think of me? You decide; it is all the same to me.

"Perhaps you still remember my former sitting-room, the one in
which we had our first and last talks. I am still using it. There are
new guests, new bribes, new flattery, new seeking for promotion, new
kowtows and bows, new mahjong and drinking games, new haughtiness and
disgust, new sleeplessness and vomiting of blood. . . .

"You said in your last letter that your teaching was nor going
well. Would you like to be an adviser? Say the word, and I will
arrange it for you. Actually, work in the gatehouse would be the
same. There would be the same guests, bribes and flattery. . . .

"It is snowing heavily here. How is it where you are? It is now
midnight, and having just vomited some blood has sobered me. I recall
that you have actually written three times in succession to me since
autumn—amazing! I give you this news of myself, hoping you will not
be shocked.

"I probably shall nor write again; you know my ways of old. When
will you be back? If you come soon, we may meet again. Still, I
suppose we have taken different roads; you had better forget me. I
thank you from the bottom of my heart for trying to find work for me.
Now please forget me; I am doing 'well.'

"Wei Lien-shu

"December 14th."

Though this letter did not "shock" me, when, after a hasty perusal,
I read it carefully again, I felt both uneasy and relieved. At least
his livelihood was secure, and I need not worry about that any more.
At any rate, I could do nothing here. I thought of writing to him, but
felt there was nothing to say.

In fact, I gradually forgot him. His face no longer sprang so often
to my mind's eye. However, less than ten days after hearing from him,
the office of the S—— Weekly started sending me its paper. I
did not read such papers as a rule, but since it was sent to me I
glanced at some of the contents. This reminded me of Wei, for the
paper frequently carried poems and essays about him, such as "Calling
on scholar Wei at night during a snowstorm," "A poetic gathering at
the scholarly abode of Adviser Wei," and so forth. Once, indeed, under
the heading "Table Talk," they retailed with gusto certain stories
which had previously been considered material for ridicule, but which
had now become "Tales of an Eccentric Genius." Only an exceptional
man, it was implied, could have done such unusual things.

Although this recalled him to me, my impression of him grew
fainter. Yet all the time he seemed to gain a closer hold on me,
which often filled me with an inexplicable sense of uneasiness and a
shadowy apprehension. However, by autumn the newspaper stopped coming,
while the Shanyang magazine began to publish the first instalment of a
long essay called "The element of truth in rumours," which asserted
that rumours about certain gentlemen had reached the ears of the
mighty. My name was among those attacked. I had to be very careful
then. I had to take care that my cigarette smoke did not get in other
people's way. All these precautions took so much time I could attend
to nothing else, and naturally had no leisure to think of Wei. I
actually forgot him.

I could nor hold my job till summer. By the end of May I had to
leave Shanyang.

I wandered between Shanyang, Licheng and Taiku for more than half a
year, but could find no work, so I decided to go back to S——. I
arrived one afternoon in early spring. It was a cloudy day with
everything wrapped in mist. Since there were vacant rooms in my old
hostel, I stayed there. On the road I started to think of Wei, and
after my arrival I made up my mind to call on him after dinner. Taking
two packages of the well-known Wenhsi cakes, I threaded my way through
several damp streets, stepping cautiously past many sleeping dogs,
until I reached his door. It seemed very bright inside. I thought even
his rooms were better lit since he had become an adviser, and smiled
to myself. However, when I looked up, I saw a strip of white paper
stuck on the door. It occurred to me, as I stepped inside, that the
children's grandmother might be dead; but I went straight in.

In the dimly lit courtyard there was a coffin, by which some
soldier or orderly in uniform was standing, talking to the children's
grandmother. A few workers in short coats were loitering there too. My
heart began to beat faster. Just then she turned to look at me.

"Ah, you're back?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you come earlier?"

"Who . . . who has passed away?" Actually by now I knew, yet I
asked all the same.

"Adviser Wei died the day before yesterday."

I looked around. The sitting-room was dimly lit, probably by one
lamp only; the front room, however, was decked with white funeral
curtains, and the woman's grandchildren had gathered outside that
room.

"His body is there," she said, coming forward and pointing to the
front room. "After Mr. Wei was promoted, I let him my front room too;
that is where he is now."

There was no writing on the funeral curtain. In front stood a long
table, then a square table, spread with some dozen dishes. As I went
in, two men in long white gowns suddenly appeared to bar the way,
their eyes, like those of a dead fish, fixed in surprise and mistrust
on my face. I hastily explained my relationship with Wei, and the
landlady came up to confirm my statement. Then their hands and eyes
dropped, and they allowed me to go forward to bow to the dead.

As I bowed, a wail sounded beside me from the floor. Looking down I
saw a child of about ten, also dressed in white, kneeling on a mat.
His hair had been cut short, and had some hemp attached to it.

Later I found out one of these men was Wei's cousin, his nearest in
kin, while the other was a distant nephew. I asked to be allowed to
see Wei, but they tried their best to dissuade me, saying I was too
"polite." Finally they gave in, and lifted the curtain.

This time I saw Wei in death. But, strangely enough, though he was
wearing a crumpled shirt, stained in front with blood, and his face
was very lean, his expression was unchanged. He was sleeping so
placidly, with closed mouth and eyes, that I was tempted to put my
finger before his nostrils to see if he were still breathing.

Everything was deathly still, both the living and the dead. As I
withdrew, his cousin accosted me to state that Wei's untimely death,
just when he was in the prime of life and had a great future before
him, was not only a calamity for his humble family but a cause of
sorrow for his friends. He seemed to be apologizing for Wei for dying.
Such eloquence is rare among villagers. However, after that he fell
silent again and everything was deathly still, both the living and the
dead.

Feeling cheerless, but by no means sad, I withdrew to the courtyard
to chat with the old woman. She told me the funeral would soon take
place. They were waiting for the shroud, she said, and when the coffin
was nailed down, people born under certain stars should nor be near.
She rattled on, her words pouring out like a flood. She spoke of Wei's
illness, incidents during his life, and even voiced certain criticisms.

"You know, after Mr. Wei came into luck, he was a different man. He
held his head high and looked very haughty. He stopped treating people
in his old formal way. Did you know, he used to act like an idiot, and
call me madam? Later on, she chuckled, "he called me 'old bitch'; it
was too funny for words. When people sent him rare herbs like
atractylis, instead of eating them himself, he would throw them into
the courtyard, just here, and call out, 'You take this, old bitch!'
After he came into luck, he had scores of visitors; so I vacated my
front room for him, and moved into a side one. As we have always said
jokingly, he became a different man after his good luck. If you had
come one month earlier, you could have seen all the fun here: drinking
games practically every day, talking, laughing, singing, poetry
writing and mah-jong games. . . .

"He used to be more afraid of children than they are of their own
father, practically grovelling to them. But recently that changed too,
and he was a good one for jokes. My grandchildren liked to play with
him, and would go to his rooms whenever they could. He would think up
all sorts of practical jokes. For instance, when they wanted him to
buy things for them, he would make them bark like dogs or make a
thumping kowtow. Ah, that was fun. Two months ago, my second
grandchild asked Mr. Wei to buy him a pair of shoes, and had to make
three thumping kowtows. He's still wearing them; they aren't worn out
yet."

When one of the men in white came out, she stopped talking. I asked
about Wei's illness, but there was little she could tell me. She knew
only that he had been losing weight for a long time, but they had
thought nothing of it because he always looked so cheerful. About a
month before, they heard he had been coughing blood, but it seemed he
had not seen a doctor. Then he had to stay in bed, and three days
before he died he seemed to have lost the power of speech. His cousin
had come all the way from the village to ask him if he had any
savings, but he said not a word. His cousin thought he was shamming,
but some people say those dying of consumption do lose the power of
speech. . . .

"But Mr. Wei was a queer man," she suddenly whispered. "He never
saved money, always spent it like water. His cousin still suspects we
got something out of him. Heaven knows, we got nothing. He just spent
it in his haphazard way. Buying something today, selling it tomorrow,
or breaking it up—God knows what happened. When he died there was
nothing left, all spent! Otherwise it would not be so dismal today. .
. .

"He just fooled about, not wanting to do the proper thing. At his
age, he should have got married; I had thought of that, and spoken to
him. It would have been easy for him then. And if no suitable family
could be found, at least he could have bought a few concubines to go
on with. People should keep up appearances. But he would laugh
whenever I brought it up. 'Old bitch, you are always worrying about
such things for other people,' he would say. He was never serious, you
see; he wouldn't listen to good advice. If he had listened to me, he
wouldn't be wandering lonely in the nether world now; at least his
dear ones would be wailing. . . . ."

A shop assistant arrived, bringing some clothes with him. The three
relatives of the dead picked out the underwear, then disappeared
behind the curtain. Soon, the curtain was lifted; the new underwear
had been put on the corpse, and they proceeded to put on his outer
garments. I was surprised to see them dress him in a pair of khaki
military trousers with broad red stripes, and a tunic with glittering
epaulettes. I did not know what rank these indicated, or how he had
acquired it. The body was placed in the coffin. Wei lay there
awkwardly, a pair of brown leather shoes beside his feet, a paper
sword at his waist, and beside his lean and ashen face a military cap
with a gilt band.

The three relatives wailed beside the coffin, then stopped and
wiped away their tears. The boy with hemp attached to his hair
withdrew, as did the old woman's third grandchild—no doubt they were
born under the wrong stars.

As the labourers lifted the coffin lid, I stepped forward to see
Wei for the last time.

In his awkward costume he lay placidly, with closed mouth and eyes.
There seemed to be an ironical smile on his lips, mocking the
ridiculous corpse.

When they began to hammer in the nails, the wailing started afresh.
I could not stand it very long, so I withdrew to the courtyard; then,
somehow, I was out of the gate. The damp road glistened, and I looked
up at the sky where the cloud banks had scattered and a full moon
hung, shedding a cold light.

I walked with quickened steps, as if eager to break through some
heavy barrier, but finding it impossible. Something struggled in my
ears, and, after a long, long time, burst out. It was like a long
howl, the howl of a wounded wolf crying in the wilderness in the
depth of night, anger and sorrow mingled in its agony.

Then my heart felt lighter, and I paced calmly on under the moon
along the damp cobbled road.